


Don't Drop the Soap

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Jackie Chan Adventures
Genre: Crack, Implied Prison Sex, Other, Prison, Where Has That Toothbrush Been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valmont experiences the various atrocities of prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Drop the Soap

**Author's Note:**

> Written circa-2003: "This is meant to be a bit of supplementary material for the episode "Rumble in the Big House"; there are two brilliantly funny screen captures by Spleeferz that made me grin and ponder just what went on during Big V's stint in jail: (1) Valmont and the blue toothbrush and (2) Big V with the Enforcers (and what looks like Joey Butafuoco; in the first season, there are a couple of one-shot minions who look like knock-offs from "Happy Days", too). Essentially, this is pure silliness, and as such, is dedicated to Lacey."

Prison, it's said, is meant to soften even the most hardened criminals. It serves as an end to dastardly means, and provides a haven in which to save crooks, thugs, and scoundrels from themselves (not to mention, to save other law-abiding citizens from said criminals).

Valmont, of course, had never considered himself a run-of-the-mill bad guy by any means. Even his Enforcers, incompetant as they were, possessed a bit more savvy than Joe Blow who just robbed a convenience store last Thursday. No, Valmont possessed a certain prestige about his position; to be a crime lord at his level, one had to be suave, dashing, smooth. Being able to trade blows with an insufferably do-gooder archaeologist and on-the-side martial arts master was always a perk; kissing stony demon hide for a number of years was another useful notch to have in one's belt. Disgustingly unsavory though the experience along the way sometimes had been, Valmont was a skilled brown-noser.

None of that really mattered in his current situation, however. In prison, there were no fanciful displays of goods; the social system was hardly relevant to the world outside of a cell, which made it pretty simple to engrave in one's memory whilst doing time. That is, the strong survived by feeding off of the weak. It was not innately fair, but in prison, it was a system that worked.

Valmont had been unfortunate enough to have experienced this power struggle firsthand. He may have been forced to don the same ridiculous orange suit (that really did nothing for his complexion), but news travelled fast about why so-and-so was doing time. Suffice to say, the crime lord's tale was quite fantastical, even without the usual fabrication and build-up that took place as the story exchanged mouths. And while he prided himself on being a cunningly proper Englishman who appreciated silence and being alone to collect his thoughts, the fact of the matter was that Valmont was a hot commodity in the slammer.

It had happened in the bathroom; all prisoners, upon their arrival, were issued not only a cell, but basic necessities, including a standard set of clothing, a bottle of shampoo, a bar of soap, deodorant, and, most telling of the incident, a toothbrush. Nondescript though the toiletries were, the toothbrushes were purchased in bulk, and were distributed randomly amongst the inmates; stock plastic in shades of red, blue, green, and yellow were nothing to get excited over (Valmont's own toothbrush back at headquarters probably cost twice as much as a box full of these ones did), but the crime lord was quick to snatch up a green one, in honour of his expensive green suit, currently stuffed away in some musty foot locker.

Valmont had always been uncomfortable undressing in front of other people, so the experience of showering in their presence was nothing short of infuriating. He had heard one too many stories about the "exchanges" therein to be wary of leaving any part of his anatomy unguarded. As such, he had gotten used to washing himself quickly and then taking great pains grooming himself in front of one of the too-small, rather dirty mirrors with his limited tools. It was this particular habit that he found himself involved in when he discovered his toothbrush was not in its usual post-shower location atop his discarded clothing. A quick surveillance of the area revealed that the bathroom was empty, save a single resident clear down at the opposite end of the row of sinks.

His name, Valmont had heard, was unknown; even the guards called him Bubba. He was as massively-sized as Tohru, with a much less pleasant demeanor, and was rumoured to "break the new recruits in". Be it because of his own elevated status as a living legend, or simply because the crime lord had impeccable timing, Valmont had never spoken to Bubba; he'd hardly seen him, save during the morning line-up and in the cafeteria and weight room a couple of times. Nonetheless, upon taking a closer glance, Valmont was dismayed to find his precious green toothbrush clamped between Bubba's lips. Territorial obstinance got the better of him, and Valmont took a step towards the hulking dark figure, who finally turned and eyed him beadily.

"Um, excuse me," Valmont began, wringing his hands and squaring his shoulders. "I believe you, uh, accidently, er, mixed up our toothbrushes," he finished lamely.

Bubba cocked an eyebrow, undaunted. "There was no mix-up. I like green better than blue." He gestured towards his own accessory, apparently expecting Valmont to take it and leave him alone.

"But! That's . . . mine," the crime lord protested meekly. Bubba snorted, nostrils flaring; he dropped the toothbrush-in-question into a sinkful of bubbly saliva and, wiping his hand on the back of his pants, lumbered towards the towel-clad Valmont.

"I bet you squeal like a piggy," he rumbled.

*

"Yo, Big V, what's up?" Finn asked cheerfully the next morning as his leader inched towards the breakfast table. Valmont just nodded sullenly, lips pursed in a thin line. He edged into his seat, wincing curiously, then stared around the cafeteria warily as if expected something to pounce on him.

"Er, what's up, boss?" Ratso asked brazenly, crunching into an apple. "You look like you're havin' trouble sitting or something."

"It's nothing," Valmont snapped, hands shaking as he unpeeled a banana. "I had an, erm, spot of trouble with another of the inmates the other day in the bathroom."

"Wow, you had a run-in with Bubba?" Chow squeaked loudly. "Glad to know I'm not the only one. He's really not so bad once you get used to it; hey, Big V, if ya need to borrow my Preparation H or anything, just say the word."

The crime lord set down his uneaten fruit, no longer hungry.


End file.
